i read chris rose's article tonight when i fiiiiiiinally got home from work. you go into reading his articles thinking that he's going to have something witty and insightful to say - with a few quotables. instead, this article literally took my breath away. and i cried for maybe the 3rd time since the storm. the title of the article was "katrina: the storm that keeps on killing." in it, he talks about the next threat to the city, and what might be the next stage of the grieving process for some, unfortunately: suicide.
in my daily exploration of the nola.com blogs, i saw that the article generated a lot of buzz - people who were speechless like me, people who were angry, people who were disappointed that rose would use his space to write something so grave. suicide is scary to me. not because i'm afraid of death, but because it's scary that someone can have no hope. there is always hope. sure right now, it doesn't seem like it. nothing is getting DONE. politicians are arguing. wasting time while people STILL sit without electricity or gas or basic services. trash still sits on the neutral ground. refrigerators still sit on front lawns. neighbors have left. favorite places still remain closed. and of course, very very few things are opened past 10pm. my dad told me definitively that antoine's was NOT going to be open for christmas eve dinner, and that was when i felt like i really lost something. crazy i know. it's just dinner, right? "it's time to make new traditions!" i can hear you say. this way, we'll be able to leave for florida earlier and not have to drive all day on christmas day. (dont' get me started on my feelings about being away for christmas) but still. we've been going to antoine's for as long as i can remember. we sit at the same table every year - between the taylors and the mannings. in the same room with the big christmas tree that always has TONS of silver tinsel. i don't ask much for christmas (i got my snow last year, so it wasn't included in this year's letter to santa), but to have one of our traditions remain when everything else has changed, that would have been nice. so this christmas - no antoine's and no st. patrick's. because of katrina and because of my dad's deeprooted desire to get out of the city now more than ever. that makes me sad.
sure, it might be DIFFICULT to have hope. but if you don't have hope, what do you really have? i think about that guy in lakeview who lost everything, but bought a generator to hookup his christmas lights. talk about a beacon of light.
i don't think you can explain it to someone "on the outside." i just got back from a weekend in providence - seeing the wonderful people who put up with me and my randomness, and consequently, i guess the people who know me best. and, inevitably, when asked, "how is everything down there?" i think about the GOOD stuff like when rock n bowl and pat o's opened, or the galatoire's block party, or how all the artists are back in jackson square. while that still doesn't convey the sadness that is still in the air, at least it shows that there is hope for us. dr. czech was close to understanding. i went to the czechs' house on saturday afternoon - i had babysat for them for 2 years: 2 beautiful and smart kids, aged 4 and 5. i had dr. czech for chem lab sophomore year, and while chem lab was NOT my thing, we hit it off because of a common love: new orleans. (when i graduated, i gave them a bottle of wine and the river road cookbook.) dr. czech was good about asking tough questions like how it REALLY is down here and how i am REALLY doing. he and his wife seemed to "get it." i promised them that jazz fest was definitely still happening in 2006.
in my daily exploration of the nola.com blogs, i saw that the article generated a lot of buzz - people who were speechless like me, people who were angry, people who were disappointed that rose would use his space to write something so grave. suicide is scary to me. not because i'm afraid of death, but because it's scary that someone can have no hope. there is always hope. sure right now, it doesn't seem like it. nothing is getting DONE. politicians are arguing. wasting time while people STILL sit without electricity or gas or basic services. trash still sits on the neutral ground. refrigerators still sit on front lawns. neighbors have left. favorite places still remain closed. and of course, very very few things are opened past 10pm. my dad told me definitively that antoine's was NOT going to be open for christmas eve dinner, and that was when i felt like i really lost something. crazy i know. it's just dinner, right? "it's time to make new traditions!" i can hear you say. this way, we'll be able to leave for florida earlier and not have to drive all day on christmas day. (dont' get me started on my feelings about being away for christmas) but still. we've been going to antoine's for as long as i can remember. we sit at the same table every year - between the taylors and the mannings. in the same room with the big christmas tree that always has TONS of silver tinsel. i don't ask much for christmas (i got my snow last year, so it wasn't included in this year's letter to santa), but to have one of our traditions remain when everything else has changed, that would have been nice. so this christmas - no antoine's and no st. patrick's. because of katrina and because of my dad's deeprooted desire to get out of the city now more than ever. that makes me sad.
sure, it might be DIFFICULT to have hope. but if you don't have hope, what do you really have? i think about that guy in lakeview who lost everything, but bought a generator to hookup his christmas lights. talk about a beacon of light.
i don't think you can explain it to someone "on the outside." i just got back from a weekend in providence - seeing the wonderful people who put up with me and my randomness, and consequently, i guess the people who know me best. and, inevitably, when asked, "how is everything down there?" i think about the GOOD stuff like when rock n bowl and pat o's opened, or the galatoire's block party, or how all the artists are back in jackson square. while that still doesn't convey the sadness that is still in the air, at least it shows that there is hope for us. dr. czech was close to understanding. i went to the czechs' house on saturday afternoon - i had babysat for them for 2 years: 2 beautiful and smart kids, aged 4 and 5. i had dr. czech for chem lab sophomore year, and while chem lab was NOT my thing, we hit it off because of a common love: new orleans. (when i graduated, i gave them a bottle of wine and the river road cookbook.) dr. czech was good about asking tough questions like how it REALLY is down here and how i am REALLY doing. he and his wife seemed to "get it." i promised them that jazz fest was definitely still happening in 2006.
posted by Catherine at 11:10 PM
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